


A Tumultuous Embrace

by ProtoChan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Assault, Drowning, Enemies to Friends, Escape, Forced Bonding, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Kidnapping, Rope Bondage, Survival, Tags Are Hard, Tame Whump, Team Up, Trapped, Walks In The Woods, Whump, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-22 11:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19666429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoChan/pseuds/ProtoChan
Summary: Captain Hook and Rumplestiltskin have wronged many a man in their days as villains, so many in fact that they’ve unknowingly overlapped on more than one occasion. What are they going to do when two of those cases want revenge and know exactly how to best take it? Now trapped together in a beyond compromising position, will Killian and Rumple be able to work together to fight against impossible odds and get home, or will their lingering hatred of each other prove to be their shared doom as they literally go down together?





	1. A Tumultuous Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was supposed to be whump. It started from a freakin’ whump prompt! And don’t get me wrong -- the first two and a half chapters are a decently whumpy, but afterwards...well, you’ll see. But for now, enjoy this chapter of pure, slow burn whump (Yeah, I’m coining that term)!

Nine times out of ten, the sound of the bell above Rumple’s shop ringing would have Rumple at the ready beside his shop’s front counter in a matter of seconds. Given how quiet his shop often was -- especially these days -- the noise it made tended to linger in the air for at least a couple of seconds after sounding off. At the very most, it would give him business, and at the very least, the company would serve to make his day more exciting and give him something to tell Belle about over dinner in between bouts of reacting to the literature leanings of Storybrooke’s citizens.

Yes, nine times out of ten, Rumple had every reason to see what goings on had just entered his vicinity and acted on it.

Today, unfortunately for him, was that all too rare tenth time. 

And even after the immediacy of the ring, Rumple was in no hurry to so much as pick his head up, let alone actually go to the front of his shop.

But what put Rumple in a state like that?

Well, as with everyone else in the world -- no matter the realm -- some days were simply better than others. For Rumple, today was just about as bad as it could get for him and he hadn’t the energy to deal with anything else aside from the immediacy of his body’s needs. 

And right now, that need was for rest was the most pressing, leaving him unable to do anything in the face of such an urgent instinct but relent.

The reason behind Rumple’s exhaustion, apathy, and moodiness came down to two matters.

First, Gideon, now deep in his teething phase, had several of his now quite common bursts of crying fits last night. Despite the ample supply of teething toys Rumple and Belle had on hand to satiate their son’s needs, few sustained Gideon for more than a few minutes at the most. 

He must’ve gotten his fickleness from his father. 

Knowing Belle had spent the previous night caring for Gideon at the cost of any energy she may have had the following day, Rumple took it upon himself to give her a well-deserved night’s rest. The results did wonders for his wife’s sleep schedule, but horrors for his. He thanked his stars his job was almost defined by how slow business often was because today, Rumple barely found himself able to do anything more than sit in his shop’s backroom and try not to crumple or tarnish any goods under a head that spent more time supported by a table than supported by his neck. Already, he had taken two unintended naps, though neither did anything to help him recover from last night’s trials.

But that first reason was a side effect of a decision that Rumple made of his own volition and truly, he knew that he had no one to blame but himself for it. 

The second reason -- the one that made him not only apathetic to the ringing of his shop’s bell, but downright grouchy -- was decidedly not. 

This morning, as Rumple struggled to keep his head from falling into a plate of eggs and toast, his lovely Belle announced that later this week, their family would be dining at the Swan house. Rumple was too tired to bother holding in his subsequent groan. That groan resulted in a low-key argument between he and Belle that was decidedly not resolved by the time they parted ways for the day and Rumple had a strong feeling that an end to that argument would be no more in sight when he came home than when he left.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand anything about that family -- far from it. Things had been complicated between he and Emma in the past, but nowadays, he got along well enough with her. And Henry was his grandson and someone he’d wished to further connect to for a long time now. Finally, he had been offered something of a chance and in some ways, that felt like a second chance connecting with Bae. 

Yes, an evening with Emma and Henry sounded nice. For them, Rumple found no issue in doing his best to not just get along, but thrive in a deeper relationship.

However, neither of them were the problem.

Instead, it was the third member of that household that was causing him enough grief to challenge his wife.

Rumple considered himself lucky. Following the breaking of his mother’s curse, much of the bad blood shared between all manner of people in Storybrooke was forgotten. Facing the possibility of certain death tended to have that effect on people.

And few benefitted from that olive branch more than he did. His trips through town no longer made the levity surrounding his fellow townspeople wilt like a rose during winter. Hell, sometimes, he even had a friendly exchange where he and another would talk about their wives or children while waiting in line for groceries or during trips to the library. Rumple never expected to like that as much as he did, but Storybrooke had really started to feel like home for reasons more than just Belle and Gideon’s presences.

Time had a funny way of doing that.

That said, there were some slates that weren’t as easy to clean as others and one of those was the shared animosity between himself and Captain Hook.

Dealing with Hook wasn’t especially hard, but he wouldn’t call it especially easy either. Rumple had accepted Hook as a part of his existence and they silently agreed to a truce. Their paths crossed few and far between enough that there was no cause to stew in their mutual animosity. They just came and went as they wished and that was that.

It didn’t mean that either of them had to like it, and no, neither of them liked it at all, but given the circumstances, their situation was about as good as they could ask for -- awkward, but not miserable. 

Rumple only hoped things would’ve stayed that way.

But then Emma had to go and befriend Belle, and with that friendship, force their two hostile husbands together. 

Why couldn’t the two of them just leave well enough alone?

So yeah, Rumple found himself in the emotional crossfires of exhausted and cranky today and thinking about his reasons for either only served to make the emotions ever more intense.

Who knew the phrase ‘like father, like son’ also worked in reverse?

Like his baby boy, he was just tired.

So when the bell went off in his shop, Rumple honestly wasn’t sure if that’s even what it was and thus didn’t bother getting up from the comfort and privacy of the back room to go investigate. 

In fact, in quite the opposite move, he started to fall back asleep.

Rumple told himself it wouldn’t be an issue. He had magic set up to alert him if anything was stolen, and beyond that, short of another crisis, he didn’t care about the odd customer or two and their burdensome wants. So what if he ignored them? The worst that could happen would be him pissing off a customer, but then again...who in this town HADN’T he pissed off at this point? One more wouldn’t make a difference.

By the time the subsequent footsteps had entered the back room, Rumple barely resonated them. What fight his brain was putting up against the pull of sleep was losing fast and dissolving quicker by the second.

When that little bit of fight in him gave in, he finally allowed himself to drift off.

That decision turned out to be all that was needed for his guests to take what -- or rather who -- they wanted.

And only hours later would Rumple feel the resulting pain from the baseball bat that soon after his departure to the realm of dreams, would harshly make contact with his head.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Killian Jones, whether thanks to his naval training or simply the demands of being a captain, could be quite the creature of habit when he wanted to be. 

After over two hundred years of surprises, from the daily adventures of his life of piracy to the endless twists and turns of Neverland to the magic and monsters that made up so much of Killian’s life after meeting Emma, there was something that could be said about the comfort of a routine. Routines allowed for a relative sense of calm in one’s life. They were a chance to let the brain rest a bit, something all too necessary for life in the near constant state of excitement Storybrooke offered.

And that sentiment it what brought Killian to the docks this evening. It was a nice detour on his stroll home from work as well as quiet and barren from crowds around the end of his shift, so he made visiting the seaside spot a regular part of his week. The calm of the ocean as it laid beside him on a calm night allowed him to release the tension from the day.

It also made for quite the stress reliever. 

When Emma and Belle first started hanging out after a trip to the library on Emma’s part that went exceptionally well, Killian was thrilled. Heaven knew they both deserved more friends, especially ones that were a touch more removed from their respective parts of the family, and of everyone they could’ve chosen as a friend, they did a damn good job of it. So Killian encouraged Emma to spend as much time as she wanted with Belle so that they could enjoy what the other could provide for companionship.

But then they had to start involving both himself and his bloody crocodile, and that’s where Killian support found itself waning.

If there was ever anything truly difficult to deal with in Storybrooke these days, it was the idea of letting Rumplestiltskin come and go as he pleased. While many a sin had been forgiven all throughout the town and their very extended family, Killian didn’t care to extend that as much with Rumple as he had with others. It wasn't a war between the two of them by any means -- they had silently settled on something of a cease fire for the sake of their families and the well being of the town they shared, but as for anything beyond that, Killian refused. There was simply too much baggage accumulated over the years to even consider bothering with any niceties beyond his barest efforts. 

And Killian held no doubts in his mind that Rumple felt the same way about him. Even with their truce, their encounters were no less awkward. For the most part, thankfully, they’d been kept to a minimum.

However, now that was about to change.

Later on this week -- in four days to be precise -- they’d all be dining together, putting Rumple and Killian far closer together than he and he expected Rumple ever would’ve wanted to be and for far longer than it couldn be reasonably expected for a spat to not break out.

Killian didn’t need to tell Emma of his dislike of the event -- he was certain that his face had done that well enough by Emma’s assurance that it wouldn’t be too bad. With all due respect to his wife -- he begged to differ.

He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Rumple was trying to weasel his way out of it -- because he was honestly trying to as well… 

How weird was it to want his crocodile to succeed for once?

Quite weird, and that’s why he was he needed a level of stress relief. 

The sea was one of the few constants in Killian’s life -- perhaps that’s part of why he found it so calming to gaze at. Even during the evening when it resembled tar more than water, it was still beautiful. 

Killian stared at the abyss of ocean that stretched into the practically invisible horizon. It had warded off a nice portion his disdain for the dinner, though there was still a good deal of it left.

He had done a good job being a better man. It was okay to have limits as to how good he could be. Killian knew that and he knew that Emma knew that. So he didn’t feel particularly unjustified in not wanting to have to entertain his enemy for an entire evening, especially when he also knew that one evening would inevitably lead to another and another. He wasn’t going anywhere and neither was Rumple. Would Emma and Belle’s friendship end up subjecting the both of them to a lifetime’s worth of discomfort?

It was awful to think that. Killian didn’t WANT to think that.

But he did.

What would he do? He presently hadn’t a clue, but he didn’t think he could just leave it at that. If simply coexisting with Rumplestiltskin proved to be the occasional pain, he couldn’t imagine how awful it would be seeing him on an even more regular basis.

Killian could only imagine how awful that would be -- sharing his home, table, and even more of his time with Rumple than he’d already wasted without Rumplestiltskin being present. And after everything that he’d been put through at Rumple’s hands since he first arrived in Storybrooke, that all only felt worse.

No, he’d have to talk with Emma. He wouldn’t do it. She’ll understand -- she always understands him. At the very least, maybe he’ll grant himself a stay of execution until the moment Emma and Belle’s friendship makes contact between himself and his crocodile completely unavoidable.

A shudder overcame Killian. Just how terrible would that moment be when it was finally here?

Killian didn’t want to know.

The calm of the sea seemed to be failing at its job. Now, he felt more stressed than ever. 

Maybe it was time to go back home.

Not even one step away from his location was he when suddenly, he heard a cracking sound.

Before Killian could even turn his head to investigate, the answer made itself known -- someone had broken the street lamp he was standing under, shrouding his vision in darkness. It was a good thousand feet to the next street lamp in either direction, and Killian could only see the twinkle of the lights beaconing in the distances.

Killian reached for his cellphone to call Emma, but just as his hand was started its motion towards his pocket, the arm attached to it was grabbed and twisted.

He tried to shout, but was stopped by a punch to his jawline. 

Stumbling back, Killian tried to regain his balance, but was quickly grabbed again.

A gloved hand pushed itself against his mouth and a torso did the same to the back of his head. Killian shouted louder, but little escaped. He bit the hand in front of him, but it remained roughly pressed against him. Between the hand and the torso, it felt like his head was in danger of being smashed. 

His eyes peered up to get a look at his assailant.

Or should he say, assailants.

If Killian could describe them in one word, that word would be crooked. 

Crooked noses sat above crooked smiles that only gave hints at what were likely crooked motivations.

Killian had dealt with these two men before.

Never did he expect anything to come of their encounter. 

But that was the thing about Storybrooke -- problems of the past had their way of coming back and biting them in the ass.

And now, Horace and Jasper were back in his life, with far too much of an advantage for Killian’s liking.

Hopefully, Killian had the power to do something about that.

He swiped his hook at Horace, but Horace caught it mid-swing.

“I think we can get rid of this. Give that wife of yours something to find when she goes looking for you. What do you think about that?”

As Horace pulled the brace connecting his hook to his body off, Killian’s only response came in the form of a steely glare.

“There, that’s better. Jasper,” Horace said, looking just above Killian’s head at his other kidnapper. “Keep your grip on him. I’ll have him out in a bit.”

Jasper, who was still holding Killian’s mouth and head hostage snickered. 

“You got it, Horace.”

Killian felt his nostrils flare up with rage as they pulled at whatever air they could to continue living.

Given his ability to survive all manner of environments, they were damn experts at that by now.

But while breathing helped Killian hold on, it did little to help him escape.

With few other solutions, Killian began giving into whatever base instincts -- however limited -- that he had, which in his state, only amounted to convulsing his body in every direction he could.

Still, it did no good, and his position was only made worse with a swift kick against the back of his shins that brought him to his knees.

Even as Killian fell, Jasper’s hold remained as firm as it had been the entire time.

Though Killian’s will to fight had not lessened at all, something deep within told him that he wasn’t getting out of this -- not by a long shot and definitely not by himself.

The last thing Killian saw before blacking out was a wooden baseball bat slamming into his head.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Transporting bodies, if one knows what they’re doing, isn’t hard, and Horace and Jasper knew damn well what they were doing. Neither was a stranger to heists and with a decently sized truck at their disposal thanks to their cursed professions, some careful timing, and a bit of luck, it was almost too easy.

And now, Rumplestiltskin and Captain Hook were theirs to do with as they deemed fit -- and oh did they have a plan for what they deemed fit.

“Get them both settled here, Jasper,” Horace ordered. “Come on, hurry up. We want to get them taken care of before they wake up.”

“IF they wake up, that is,” Jasper shot back, chuckling. “You really did a number on them with those clonks on the head, Horace.”

Horace dismissed him with a casual wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, Jasper. They’ll wake up, alright…After all they put us through, they don’t deserve to get off so easily, and we’re not done with them just yet by a bloody sight. Now start tying them up.”

Jasper seemed a bit put off by the fact that he was going to have to do the hard part of the work this time around, but Horace wasn’t about to allow himself be guilted otherwise. Whether he liked it or not, Jasper was likely the most talented knot tier in history and Horace didn't want to chance even the possibility of a premature escape. 

No, Jasper would ensure that their prisoners would suffer their fates side-by-side and helpless, just as they had to do all those years ago.

“How do you want me to arrange them?”

Horace thought about it for a second before a thought struck him.

The Dark One and Captain Hook had screwed up their lives while in pursuit of revenge on each other.

A side-by-side torture was too good for them.

Why not instead put them as they always were: At each other’s throats?

Yeah, Horace liked that idea quite a lot.

“Let’s make them face each other,” Horace instructed. “Put Hook under The Dark One’s pits. That way, the shorty won’t be able to get his arms past his head. And then stick his arms under Hook’s.” It would no doubt be hard to get them like that, particularly that last step, but if it worked the way Horace envisioned it, their last moments on this Earth would be truly hellish.

Jasper smirked. “Good thinking, Horace. One problem though: Hook’s only got one hand. Aren’t you worried he’ll slip out?”

Horace hummed as he considered the problem Jasper presented him with. How indeed COULD he keep Hook in place? Normal binds wouldn’t work when one could just slip their arm out of them.

No, he needed something that would stick.

Horace considered his own body. He balled his left fist and looked up and down his arm. With his right hand, he formed a circle and slowly traced over the outer layer of his arm, looking for a point where he was sure a bond couldn’t slip out. When he arrived at his elbow, he fastned the circle and made a move in the other direction.

Upon seeing that it couldn’t move, he practically beamed.

“Bind his right hand to his left elbow.”

Jasper grinned at him.

“That’ll keep them awfully close,” he said, clearly unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“That’s the plan.” Jasper got to work, arranging them as Horace ordered at a quick pace, especially for him.

He supposed, as was the case for his captives, a lust for vengeance could do that to someone.

“That’s it, get them nice and tight.”

When Jasper was done, Horace tested the strength of the binding. Pleased as the strength and layers of the knots, he offered his friend a satisfied nod. 

“So what do we do now?” Jasper asked.

“Now?” Horace repeated. “Now, we just sit back and ready ourselves for some sweet revenge.”


	2. A Tumultuous Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read the last chapter! I've been really excited to release this small MC. I love forced proximity premises and plot lines and who makes for better characters to force together than Rumple and Killian, am I fucking right?! XD
> 
> In that vein, I really tried to be careful when writing both Rumple and Killian so that they were a balance as to how reasonable, petty, and sympathetic they would be in relation to each other. I hope I did a good job, but if not, let me know, okay?
> 
> This is the whump heavy chapter! Well...maybe discomfort is the better word for it, you know? There's no graphic violence, BUT it leans on whump, so I still wanted to label it accordingly.

The first thing that greeted Killian in his journey back to consciousness was a pressing, splitting headache. 

He personally preferred a kiss from Emma, but he’d take being alive for the moment as acceptable.

His life had certainly produced far worse ways to wake up.

Killian gingerly opened his eyes, and with that opening came the return of a torturous heap of memories.

Horace and Jasper had attacked him. And they’d actually gotten the jump on him. 

At least that solved one mystery.

Was it bad that his first instinct was to be embarrassed about losing to them?

Either way, the annoyingly still present headache that plagued him wouldn’t let him focus on that matter with any significant level of attention. 

So Killian attempted to soothe it. 

Killian moved to bring his right hand up to his forehead, but was stopped. 

Something had a hold on his arm. 

He then attempted to move him arm downwards to escape what had been holding him in place, only to stop upon feeling a tugging sensation in his left elbow.

Were they connected?

In a third attempt to move his arms, Killian discovered that the answer to that inquiry was a disappointing ‘yes.’

What was going on here?

Without moving his head, Killian looked around. While his view was limited, the chrome lining of the walls told him that the building was industrial in nature. It reminded him of the local cannery. 

And the only place that hosted buildings like those was the docks.

Great. Not only had no one seen him be taken, but now no one was likely in the vicinity to hear his cries for help, should he give them -- and given that he had a feeling that with his assailants likely close by, he shouldn’t.

Well, that solved another mystery, or at least part of one, for even though he knew what building he was in, what he needed to learn was where exactly his body was.

Killian felt around a bit before coming to his conclusion.

He was bound, but by no means in an ordinary position. 

While his left forearm was out in the open, albeit without his hook -- much to Killian’s frustration -- everything from his left elbow and up was clenched tightly, unable to move. Attached to his left elbow was his right hand. He had a bit more freedom there, namely in his elbow, but not by much.

And it soon resonated with him that between his body and limbs, there was something else.

It was something soft.

It was something warm.

It was something LIVING.

Killian made another, this time more cautious, move backwards, only nudging his head as opposed to his entire body. He released a sigh of relief when the movement was successful, but the sigh died in his throat upon seeing the sight in front of him.

There were few things Killian Jones ever expected to wake up to these days.

At the very bottom of that list, there resided the possibility of ever waking up in Rumplestiltskin’s arms.

But lo and behold, that’s where he was, holding his enemy cheek-to-cheek even tighter than he often held his own wife.

Immediately forgetting what had happened mere moments ago, Killian -- who had only just held back from letting out a surprised shout -- made a sharp move to recoil himself from the unwanted embrace, but was met by a just as immediate blowback as he and Rumple slammed back into each other. 

NO…

Killian ignored his better judgment and made another attempt to pull away, but was foiled yet again, and just like last time, their torsos all but clapped when they met once more.

A stinging sensation reverberated through Killian’s body, but as his circumstances -- like Rumple’s body a mere moment ago -- hit him, he could hardly find it in him to care.

They were completely, immovably, almost impossibly stuck together.

Killian listened for any signs of Horace and Jasper’s presence -- nervous that his reckless instinctual movements may have alerted them to the fact that he was awake -- but thankfully, the room they were in remained quiet. Had they been present, Killian had no doubt that they’d likely be laughing their asses off.

Had Horace and Jasper been in their situations, Killian knew he would be.

Once his fears over Horace and Jasper were momentarily put at ease, Killian’s heart sank. Truly, they were stuck together, and at least until Rumple woke up, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Now that the immediate adrenaline of his discovery had worn off -- or at least part of it, Killian could feel a set of hands bound against the back of his jacket, confirming fears that rivaled Horace and Jasper’s appearance -- that similarly to how Killian was bound to Rumple, Rumple was bound to him. The only difference between their nearly mirrored positions was that because of his lack of a left hand, Killian was instead bound by his left elbow. 

But even that light luxury came with a price. The distance between one’s wrist and elbow was great and the result was that their bodies were pushed even closer together than they would’ve had Killian had both hands.

Just another reason to hate his crocodile…the crocodile he was now bound to in a manner that was inherently intimate.

And wait...was that DROOL oozing over his right cheek?

Killian was getting another headache, but for a completely different reason.

For whatever torture Horace and Jasper had intended for him, they’d definitely succeeded. 

But that begged the question: Given that this was likely but the first step of said torture, what else did they have in store for them?

If there was one thing Killian knew for sure, it was that he was not eager to find out, and even less eager to deal with it with Rumplestiltskin of all people quite literally by his side.

And just as Killian had given his enemy another thought, from his right side, he heard a soft groan.

It seemed like Rumple was about to wake up. 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The last time that Rumple had been shushed as he woke up, it was by his wife in their bedroom as she cradled their son in her arms. It made for a memory that would likely rank in Rumple’s top five for the most pleasant moments in his life.

This time, it would make for one of the LEAST pleasant moments.

Rumple didn’t know how to react when he woke up only to see Captain Hook, quite literally right in his face, staring back at him, and shushing him all the while.

Well, that wasn’t true -- his anger set in quickly enough. 

After barely a beat passed, Rumple attempted to push his enemy away, only to discover two unwelcome surprises.

The first was that he could barely move his hands.

The second was that the little that his hands could move only proceeded to push the two of them closer together.

And they were already far too close to each other for Rumple’s liking, all but nose-to-nose and apparently completely unable to do a thing about it. 

Rumple had a million questions to ask, but settled on the most general of them.

“What the hell is going on?” he hissed, firmly, yet quietly. He wanted to scream his demand for information, but he had a feeling that whatever was going on, if Hook was trying to protect him of all people, and especially given their position, it was probably in his best interest to listen...for now, at least.

Hook bit his lip. 

“I don’t know,” Hook whispered, his lips disgustingly close to Rumple’s ear. Rumple attempted to jerk his head back in response, but to little payoff. Hook, apparently resigned to their situation, proceeded. “I was attacked on my way home from work earlier. The kidnappers knocked me out and apparently brought me here. I just woke up to this fresh torture.” Rumple could immediately hear the repulsed confusion in his fellow captive’s voice.

At the very least, Rumple took comfort in the fact that Hook found this position to be just as miserable as he did.

That said, that comfort amounted to little more than a hill of beans.

“I’ve no idea what they want with you, though,” Hook continued. His eyes then bulged, as if he realized something. “Can you use your magic to get us out of here?”

If Rumple had any agency over his hands, he’d hit himself for having not thought of that first.

Focused on their freedom, Rumple attempted to summon a force field between them, only to be crushed when he felt nothing happen.

Determined, Rumple tried another spell, annoyed to see that once again, it was a moot effort. 

And then he tried another.

And another.

He was about to try again, but he stopped upon feeling a very familiar patch of leather around his wrist just below his bindings.

“I can’t,” Rumple growled. “Whoever captured us managed to get that magic confining cuff on me.”

“That’s just great,” Hook muttered, his voiced laced with sarcasm. “Can you see anything that can help us on your end?” All I see in front of me is a wall.”

Rumple looked around, trying to make sense of where they were. He recognized the building as one that he owned, though the property sat abandoned after the previous lender passed away last year.

Apparently, someone -- someone with a bone to pick with Hook -- had decided to turn it into their playpen.

There was a desk across the way, and a dark truck backed into some otherwise free space beside it.

Suddenly, Rumple was able to make something out from the side of the truck.

There, in a grey and red logo along the center was a logo for ‘Horace and Jasper’s Discount Chimney Cleanings.’

And immediately, something clicked.

It wasn’t only Hook who these kidnappers had a problem with.

Rumple turned back to Hook, though given their proximity, it wasn’t as much a turn as it was a shift. Despite his efforts to make space between them, his nose hit Hook’s forehead.

“Can you back up a bit?”

“You know for a fact that I can’t,” Hook snarled. The two exchanged frustrated looks, but Hook’s soon partially dissolved into a curious one. “Anyway, what did you find out?” he whispered, clearly savy to the fact that Rumple had discovered something.

“Who captured us,” Rumple said, careful to keep his voice low.

“Yeah, Horace and Jasper.”

Rumple’s brow furrowed. “You know them?”

“Aye,” Hook said. “And you do as well?”

“Yes.”

“So why are they coming after you?” As he spoke, there was a nastiness in Hook’s tone, as if he expected the worst of stories from Rumple about how’d he’d come into contact with their captors.

Whether or not that was the case, Hook was hardly one to talk.

“Me? Why are they coming after YOU?”

Hook rolled his eyes. “Let me guess,” he grit. “They were victims of one of your deals?”

“And let ME guess: They were victims of your plunderings?”

The two of them glared at each other.

It was just Rumple’s luck that of everyone in this town, the one person he had to be bound to was the most insufferable, hypocritical, pain in the ASS around.

“I can only imagine the kind of scheme you pulled.”

Rumple scoffed. “And I can’t imagine your encounter with them was any nobler than mine.”

But before they could continue, another voice spoke up.

“Well, look at who’s finally awake?”

Horace’s voice had frozen their argument in its tracks. With much bumping and pain along the way, Rumple and Hook turned their heads towards the truck side of the room, their cheeks now pressed together like a sole to a shoe. 

But they couldn’t get too angry about that at the moment, for in front of them were two very familiar men with two very familiar types of weapons in hand.

A gun was pointed at the both of them and Rumple knew that they’d definitely use them if given a reason to.

He only hoped Hook knew that too.

“Didn’t think either of you would see us again, did you?” Jasper gloated, cackling under is breath.

“I’d have thought you two smart enough not to try,” Hook shot back, any fear that he may have had hidden like a master magician as he boldly kept his ground.

Damnit, he really was a reckless bastard, wasn’t he?

Not that Rumple could fully blame him -- though he wasn’t about to absolve him for it either.

Fortunately, or at least as fortunately as things could be given everything else, neither man shot their gun. If anything, the comment had amused them.

“You two think you’re so smart compared to us, don’t ya?” Jasper snickered. “Well, if we’re so dumb, how do you figure we all got here?”

“Trickery,” Rumple answered without missing a beat. Despite himself, he couldn’t ignore the opportunity to take his captors down a peg any better than Hook could. He wouldn’t give Horace and Jasper that satisfaction. “I know from experience that without the intelligence to back it up, it’s little more than the coward’s excuse for cleverness.” 

“Maybe so,” Jasper continued, twirling his gun before turning it back to them. 

“But there’s no denying its effectiveness,” Horace finished, eyeing his and Hook’s bodies as they clenched within their restraints. “By the way, do you like what we set up for you? Seeing as how you both had us locked up for so long,” Horace elaborated, “seems only fair to us that we pay you back in kind. And you even get a friend with you, just like Jasper and I had each other back in those filthy, blasted cells. But I have to admit, you two are far closer than we could ever be.” Horace and Jasper started laughing.

Rumple felt Hook’s hand ball up into a tight fist behind him and he could see him gritting his teeth from out of the corner of his eyes.

In truth, Rumple was doing the exact same thing.

“And now that you have us locked up, what are you going to do?” Rumple asked.

“Well, we figured we’d clean the slate, and why not start with cleaning you two out of our lives entirely.” Horace gestured towards the waterview on the other side of a nearby window. 

“You’re going to throw us into the ocean,” Rumple said. It was more of a statement than a question.

Horace smirked. “Everybody back in our world knew sooner or later, you’d be each other’s downfall. Jasper and I -- we thought in addition to bringing that day nearer, we’d make that literal on top of it.”

“You’ll never get away with this,” Hook growled. “Emma will stop you.”

“Assuming she finds you before you take your little one-way trip,” Jasper heckled. “But I assure you, she won’t and neither will anyone else for that matter.”

“Then if she can’t, WE will!” Hook insisted.

Immediately, Horace and Jasper barked out in laughter.

“I doubt that,” Horace mocked. “We know you two. You and that ‘dearie’ beside you couldn’t get along if your lives depended on it and considering where you are and what’s about to happen soon enough, that’s unlikely to change now.”

Rumple and Hook stayed silent. There were questions on Rumple’s mind, and he was sure the same could be said for Hook -- Why not just throw them off the docks now and get it over with, Why tell them anything, Why keep their mouths ungagged -- those were just a few of them. However, he and likely Hook knew that any premature prompting would deprive them of time they could put towards figuring a way out of this. And so they stayed as quiet as mice, naught for heavy breaths labored through the physical strain of balancing and supporting each other thanks to their binds.

Horace and Jasper smirked. 

“See?” Jasper gloated. “You two would die before working together.”

Hmm. They seemed to take their silence as less of a means of giving themselves a stay of execution and more as a symbol of resignation.

That could work to his and Hook’s advantage.

Rumple hated Hook, and Hook hated Rumple. Those were as much facts as that of the sky being blue. But more than either of them hated each other, they loved their families. For them, they could work together.

Horace and Jasper didn’t think much of that love, and for that, they would lose.

He once more studied Hook out of the corner of his eye, only to see Hook doing the same to him. 

There was a look in his eyes, telling Rumple that he had also realized their ace in the hole too.

Horace, with his gun still pointed at them, looked at his watch. “Jasper, let’s get back to the front. The sooner the cannery’s manager takes off for the night, the sooner we can give these two their one way cruise.”

Well, solved another mystery of their kidnapping.

Jasper nodded. “Good idea, Horace.” He then looked at Rumple and Hook. “And don’t either of you get to screaming,” Jasper said, gesturing towards his and Horace’s guns. “Because I promise, you won’t live long enough to save yourself from anything but a watery grave if you do.”

“But feel free to bicker all you want,” Hoarce implored, cackling as he started to walk away. “It’ll be more fun for us -- like listening to music on the radio, but so, so much sweeter.” Jasper joined in their laughter and as his and Horace’s forms disappeared, so did the sounds of their footsteps.

When they were at last out of sight, Hook moved onto his back and turned to Rumple. Both of them gave the other a look, silently communicating their plan to keep quiet as they discussed their next steps. 

“What are we going to do?” Rumple asked.

Hook bit the inside of his cheek. “Tight spot, but one I don’t doubt we can get out of. They’re not the smartest of men.”

“You have no idea.”

“Trust me,” Hook smirked, “I do.”

Rumple decided it was best to drop the matter. They likely had little time as it stood and bickering was not a way he wanted to waste it with. “So how can we outsmart them this time? I don’t know about you, but I’ve no interest in taking a dip in the ocean.”

A worrying smile that reeked of a plan emerging grew on Hook’s face. “Well, you might want to change your mind on that one,” he said. “Because if we want to get free, we’re gonna have to let them do just that.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Killian knew as soon as he thought up his plan, Rumple would likely object.

He’d be lying if he said that fact didn’t give him even a tiny bit of satisfaction.

“Are you insane?” Rumple nearly shouted. If it weren’t for the fact that their in-fighting was exactly what Horace and Jasper were expecting from them, he’d almost be worried.

Still, Killian wasn’t about to risk an encore.

“Shush!” he hissed.

Rumple rolled his eyes, but complied all the same. 

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” Killian stated.

“There’s a difference between ‘not easy’ and impossible and that is impossible!” This time, Rumple had the courtesy to hiss his complaints rather than outright shout them. “How do you propose we swim? In case you forgot, neither of us has our arms!”

“ONE of us has half an arm. And as an experienced swimmer, I can tell you that swimming is mostly kicking, anyways.”

“You’re going to get us killed.” Rumple grit.

Killian shot him a pointed look. “Do you have a better plan?”

Rumple waffled as he worked for solutions. “Bribe them? Threaten them?”

His brow was up before Rumple could even finish his miserable excuses for ideas. “If they cared about a bribe, they’d have given us a ransom and they’ll kill us long before any kind of threat sustains itself. Rumple,” Killian sighed, sucking in his pride as much as he could, “if we don’t do this, we’re gonna die. We owe all of them -- Emma, Henry, Belle, Gideon -- better than that.” 

Emma and Henry -- while a lump couldn’t help itself but form in his throat at the prospect of them worrying for his safety or him never getting the chance to see them again, he pushed it aside. 

No. He’d make it home. He’d hug his family again. He’d kiss his wife and ruffle his stepson’s hair. He’d live a full life with them and the town he had grown to be part of.

He’d make it so, no matter what.

As Killian waited for Rumple’s response, he realized he’d forgotten for a moment that Rumple was immortal. Even if he died, Rumple wouldn’t. Still Killian hoped that the message he was attempting to convey would be enough to sway him. After all, even if he didn’t die, without Killian’s and his magic’s help, Rumple would be trapped under his weight for God knows how long.

Killian could tell Rumple was looking for some other plan -- ANY other plan, but was failing. If not for the fact that this issue affected him quite directly too, he’d probably take some amusement in that.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Killian continued, “I promise I’ll keep you safe. I’ve a family to get home to and for Belle and Gideon’s sake, I want you to get back to yours.”

Rumple sighed, his disbelief in what he was agreeing to so agonizingly apparent on his face that it almost hurt Killian to watch. “How far will we have to swim?” 

“If we can handle the current, hopefully, just to the beach,” Killian approximated after a moment of thought. “Then we can find help at a nearby house.”

The response was immediate and about as predictable as predictable could be.

“And if we can’t handle the current?” 

Killian took a deep breath. “We either land in the woods or we flow outside Storybrooke. Either way’s better than dying.”

“We’re gonna die,” Rumple groaned.

For as best as he could in their situation, Killian shrugged. “Better to go out fighting than not.”

Rumple sighed. “Fine. Then what’s our plan for once we’re submerged?”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Horace and Jasper had awful laughs. They were so disjointed, lacking any kind of rhythm or charm. It was worse when added to the fact the latter of the two had he and Hook in his clutches, forcing them to endure the subsequent rustling of his hands around their waists as he did it, making the whole experience that much more uncomfortable -- as if this whole atrocity wasn’t bad enough already.

Rumple knew he shouldn’t be focusing on things like that right before he and Hook plunged off the side of a dock while tied together as closely as two enemies could ever hate to be, but given that...well, he and Hook were about to be plunged off the side of a dock while tied together as closely as two enemies could ever hate to be, he figured the distraction could relieve him of some of the heart-thumping panic.

It didn’t, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than thinking about the freezing water that would soon surround their bodies.

It was better than entertaining the idea that they wouldn’t be able to swim fast enough to beat the current, or even stop themselves from drowning.

And it was better than thinking about how if this failed, he could very well spend far too many of his immortal days, if not the rest of them, at the bottom of the ocean with only Hook’s deceased corpse and the occasional school of fish for company.

Most anything was better than that.

The docks were freezing. Rumple was almost never here at night, and as he stood there in the grasp of one enemy and forcibly hugged by another, he knew it was for good reason. There was an extra level of eeriness that the docks had when added to the already unsettling darkness that this time of night was most famous for, and was further complemented by the creaky wood beneath him and the ebony water below them.

Just how the hell were they going to swim out of that water? It looked dark enough to prevent those with even the most heightened of senses from seeing their hands in front of their faces.

And in just a matter of moments, they’d need to navigate those same waters without the use of a large portion of their limbs.

This plan of Hook’s had better damn well work...

As to keep the two of them quiet while Jasper kept them in place, Horace’s gun remained, as it had since the two of them were forced out of the building five minutes ago, aimed directly at their temples, keeping Rumple even more alert.

“You two best take a nice, deep breath,” Horace mocked, “because it’s gonna be your last.”

Hook stared at Rumple and he gave him a noticeably pointed stare. It looked to be reassuring, but was definitely by no means fearless.

And why wouldn’t it be? 

They were about to take a dunk in the ocean...and there was no promise they’d get the chance to ever dry off.

Their plan may have had legs to stand on -- or swim on -- but it didn’t have arms.

Jasper seemed able to read Rumple’s fear like a book. He leaned in close to them, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“We promise, you won’t be wet for long once you get to Hell,” he said, a mocking tone in his voice.

Rumple could see Hook stifling an annoyed snort, as if to say ‘been there, done that.’

A large part of Rumple wished he had that kind of bravery. He thought back to what -- or rather, who -- had inspired that bravery in him before.

Rumple stared down at the ocean once more, now with a new resolve.

It was still terrifying, but as he forced himself to look, he thought of Belle and Gideon. He thought of how if he didn’t do this, he’d miss his son’s first steps, his first words, and every other moment that would help him grow into a man. He thought of Belle and how much he’d regret not getting home to her, leaving them both with a final interaction that amounted to what felt now to be the pettiest of arguments, and missing the chance for them to grow old together.

With all that in mind, though he was still scared out of his wits, Rumple made a vow.

He’d make it home to Belle and Gideon -- no matter what he’d have to face...or who he’d have to work with to make it so.

“So,” Horace started, laughter bubbling like a brook underneath him, “before you two...take a dive...any last words?” Jasper joined in and the two beamed as they began to shift the two of them ever closer to the edge of the docks.

Rumple REALLY hated that laugh of theirs.

“You won’t get away with this.” Rumple and Hook eyed each other as they took their last deep breaths. It wasn’t that shocking that they’d say something along the lines of a similar sentiment, but to say the same thing was nonetheless surprising.

With any luck, that would be a good sign for their immediate future.

“We just did.”

That seemed to be all the prompt that was needed for Horace’s plan to take its final action.

He gave Jasper an affirmative nod and with that. Jasper shoved the two of them forward and into the sea.

Of the many things that scared Rumple, nothing was as uniquely petrifying as falling. It wasn’t his biggest fear by any means, but as he and Hook cascaded down with the wind hitting their faces like bricks, unable to move anything but their legs, Rumple felt utterly horrified. 

He released the breath he had been holding, and Hook was quick to silently scold him for it.

Quickly, Rumple took another one just before the pair hit the water.

The ocean hit him first with a force close to what one feels when they punch glass with their fists, but as if those fists encompassed their whole body. Then, the feeling changed and only the pure coldness of the water could be felt.

Rumple didn’t let himself feel out the new environment for long. Now that Horace and Jasper’s plan had been completed, now was the time to enact theirs. 

He looked to Hook for the next step forward -- or rather, kick forward. Hook nudged them downward and outwards from where they’d fallen. He explained it before back in the building after they’d agreed to his plan -- the safest way of surviving both the ocean and their assailants’ guns would be if Jasper and Horace thought they were truly dead, and once they were far enough out so that their captors wouldn’t see them, they’d resurface and start swimming for the beach.

He desperately hoped Hook was truly right in his assumption, because if he wasn’t and they didn’t make it through this ordeal alive, he actually WOULD make his afterlife Hell.

Rumple felt Hook’s free arm circling by his back and a soft touch by his leg reminded him to start kicking. Hook’s eyes pointed him in the direction they were supposed to go and Rumple reluctantly followed. After about two minutes of nonstop and frantic kicking, partnered with his continuously dwindling supply of oxygen, Rumple began to feel woozy.

As if on cue, Hook looked to him and quickly directed they swim upwards.

It was a tough trip up and Rumple had questioned for a moment if he’d even make it, but in the end, he did. 

Immediately Rumple started breathing heavily and Hook was doing the same beside him. Unconsciously, he leaned his head on Hook’s chest.

Hook not only let him, but leaned his own head against the side of Rumple’s. Rumple could only contribute both actions to a mutual sense of exhaustion.

If there was one thing they could likely agree on, it was that it had been a long fucking day.

Rumple shuddered as a haze of chilliness formed a cocoon around them. It may have been summer, but Storybrooke’s Maine-bound water in the middle of the night was cold no matter the season. Because of that, the water was treacherous for reasons far beyond its current and density.

That wasn’t to say that they weren’t issues at all -- the pull of the ocean told Rumple as much.

They needed to get out of here.

“W-we need to start swimming out to the beach,” Hook said, clearly reaching the same conclusion he did.

All Rumple could do was nod after pushing his head off of Hook. 

Rumple started kicking a beat after Hook did.

By Hook’s estimation, the safest part of the beach they could land on was about three hundred feet out from the water when aligned to how far they swam out to and about thirteen hundred feet north of where they currently were. They could follow the current for the thirteen hundred or so feet, but once they were parallel to the beach, they’d need to fight to escape it to reach the shore. 

Well, they’d accomplished harder tasks.

The current, for the few moments they could ride it, was a godsend. Rumple’s legs felt more like jelly than bone and his rigidly trapped body fared no better in the cold water. He felt like, had they not been in life-threatening danger, he could pass out on the spot. Hook seemed to feel the same. Even though he was keeping an eye out for the point where they needed to leave the current, the tension that had been in his shoulders since this nightmare of theirs had begun was lessened for a moment and he allowed for a soft groan to leave his lips between pants and gasps for air.

Rumple couldn’t see the beach, so all he could go by to have any idea of where they needed to go were the glimmers of street lamps and lights from inside people’s homes and Hook’s navigational skills.

Looks like there WERE uses for pirates.

“It’s time!” Hook shouted, pushing them against the current, with Rumple immediately following.

The current that had blessed them until but a moment ago retaliated against their attempt for freedom with the brutality of a fireball to the face. They were making progress, but the progress was poor at best as the current continued to try to pull them back into it.

“Go faster,” Hook commanded.

Rumple tried -- Zeus knows he did. Even as he felt his feet’s productivity slipping, he kicked at the water like a paddle against a ping pong.

But try as he and Hook may, he could feel that their efforts to fight off the current weren’t enough. They were getting caught in it and drifting farther and faster away from the beach.

Hook seemed determined to not give up, but before they could make another try, Rumple noticed something.

That something just happened to be a giant rock that they were now set to directly collide with. 

He shouted to get Hook’s attention, but Hook didn’t seem to pay him mind as he tried to make a break for the beach once more. Rumple even tried to help him just to have some chance of escaping the boulder’s impact.

But it didn’t work.

All it took was one unluckily timed wave to send their heads hurdling towards the rocks.

And their bodies rushing into the rocks was the last thing Rumple saw that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! If you want to tell me what you think, consider writing a comment!!! Comments are groovy, and who doesn't want to be groovy, ya know?


	3. A Tumultuous Stroll Through The Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I LOVED writing this chapter. It was a long, arduous, bonkers process, but I loved every freaking minute of it! Rumple and Killian being each other's unwitting, but forced-upon torture is my freakin' aesthetic and making a fic of that is essentially a dream come true!
> 
> This chapter is less whumpy, but more uncomfortable, and I think it's not only the longest chapter, but the funniest too!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

**CHAPTER 3: A TUMULTUOUS STROLL IN THE WOODS**

Pirates were no stranger to the water. Everyone knew that. Water ruled their lives -- it was their home, their source of food, and their best means of travel in a world unfriendly towards their kind. But, just as it provided for pirates, it also took away from them in that same vein. It was something of a system of its own personal brand of justice, often serving all at once as a pirate’s judge, jury, and executioner for whatever walk of life came into its murky embrace.

And although it was often preferable to be above the water because of this, given his and Rumple’s current circumstances, Killian was more than grateful to wake up only partially submerged in the stuff.

Thankfully, as it had been many times before, the water he’d found himself in took mercy on his soul.

As the sun shined a hopeful, speckled light onto him through the nearby trees aside a cloudless sky, Killian took a deep, thankful breath.

He was alive. 

They had done it.

But that begged immediately begged the question: Did the other part of his unwitting duo fare so well?

Sure, Rumple couldn’t die, but the very water that spared him may have drowned Rumple, leaving him in a catatonic state. That, especially given their circumstances, would actually be worse for the both of them.

Never before had Killian thought he’d wish Rumple was okay, but now, it was almost something of a prayer.

Damnit, he just HAD to make it out of this! 

Killian leaned his head forward so that his ear was on Rumple’s chest. As if an act of mercy for all they’d had to endure thus far, his heart was beating perfectly. Killian sighed.

He had to thank Zeus for that one -- he’d made that bastard as good as surviving as him.

“Wake up!” he said, nudging at his neck as best as he could.

Immediately, Rumple moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He forewent meeting Killian’s eyes following a brief few seconds in favor of exploring their new location with his limited viewpoint.

After a moment, Rumple released a breath that mirrored the one Killian took upon making the same realization. “We made it,” he said, a calmness in his voice that Killian had never heard before, a calmness that was likely reserved for only Belle, Gideon, and Bae.

Despite everything, Killian smiled. “Indeed, we did. Told you I’d get us back safely. Now the only question is WHERE are we?” Killian looked around. Currently, they laid beside a big boulder inside a shallow brook. Above the brook’s edge laid what was clearly a large and expansive forest, but he had no clue if they had remained in town or not. 

Rumple examined the area. “I know this place. We’re in a small brook by the northern part of Storybrooke’s woods. Quite a far cry from the town.”

Of course surviving the current and brutality of the very ocean itself would be the easiest part of this mess.

What else would he expect from Storybrooke?

“At least we made it out alive,” Killian said, sighing.

“Now, tell me these binds loosened up a bit and that will really make my day.”

Killian hadn’t considered that possibility, but it was indeed quite feasible. The ocean was a harsh mistress to be sure, but maybe that could work to their benefit.

He tried pulling his arm and elbow, first close together and then apart, but much to his chagrin, the knot that bound him stayed just as tight as before. “No such luck. You try.”

And try Rumple did -- many times. Grunting, he pulled his hands closer and further apart, much like an accordion player. 

However, it proved to be no use.

Any goodwill Rumple displayed on his features since waking up was gone now, replaced instead with the scowl that Killian had come to know and hate.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Rumple huffed. Killian nodded.

Using his free arm as leverage, Killian started to pick the two of them up...only to slip and be knocked down not two seconds later. 

They hit the rocks with a thud, with Rumple taking the brunt of the fall.

“Can you TRY to be a bit more careful?” he barked.

“In case you haven't realized, we’re in the midst of a brook and all I’ve on hand for leverage are slippery rocks,” he said as they worked to sit up again. “And not only that, but the edge of my arm is completely smooth -- thanks to you, by the way. I can only do so much.”

Rumple looked to his left, either ignoring or not caring about how his chin hit Killian’s nose in the process. Killian turned to face that way, pushing their cheeks together once more.

“Let’s scoot over to the end of the brook,” Rumple suggested. “With any luck, we’ll be able to get up from there.”

Killian agreed. The pair shifted onto Killian’s back once more. From there, his arm pulled at the slippery rocks while both of their sets of legs pushed in the direction of the brook’s edge.

It didn’t take long before something harsh hit his shoe.

“Ow!” Killian snapped. “Be careful!”

“I can’t see!” Rumple shot back.

“Then don’t step so hard!”

“Yes,” Rumple mocked, his tone as drenched in sarcasm as their bodies were in water, “because soft steps are what will get us out of here.”

What came out next of Killian was a mix of a groan and a roar. “What the hell could I have done that warranted this kind of torture? Out of everyone in the all the realms I could’ve been stuck with this way, it HAD to be you!”

“I promise you, CAPTAIN: You were hardly my first choice either.”

The two glared at each other, frustrated at how they could only just barely keep their noses from touching.

If Killian could have it his way, they’d be on opposite sides of the world.

Seething, Killian got back to work, with Rumple following suit, his steps somehow turning even harsher.

And Killian paid the deed in kind.

“Watch it,” Rumple snarled when one of his foot stomps hit its semi-intended target.

“I will when you do.”

“How much further do we have to go?” 

Killian tilted his head back and was perturbed to see just how little progress they’d made. 

“We’re maybe halfway there.”

“Please tell me this is one of your awful jokes.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Killian commiserated. “It’s a travesty.”

Rumple sighed, his head landing on Killian’s chest for the barest of seconds before he recoiled. “For once, I’ll agree to that.”

“Then let’s work to end it,” Killian said.

Killian and Rumple got back to work, pushing and pulling through the rocks silently while facing opposing directions. While Killian’s arm would occasionally slip, Rumple didn’t interrupt their progress to yell at him, instead just grunting as he got back to work.

As far as cooperation went for them, with their lives no longer so directly on the line, that was likely the best Killian could hope for. 

However, that did paint a worrying picture for how they’d go about handling the next stage in their climb.

After about three minutes, Killian tilted his head back to see that they were nearly close enough for his arm to latch onto the grass of the forest.

“Look alive,” he said. “We’re closing in on the brook’s edge.”

Through his shirt, Killian could feel Rumple looking up to confirm his words.

“What do you think? How should we get up there?”

Killian took a moment to plot out his plan.

“We’ll dig our side into the side of the brook and shimmy up the ledge. Once your arm can secure a hold on the ground, we’ll push ourselves up onto it with our legs.”

“This better work,” Rumple grumbled.

“It will.”

Killian dug his feet against the closest rock to them at the bottom of the brook and proceeded to shove his and Rumple’s shoulders into the wet dirt that comprised the brook’s ledge. He pushed his knees in between Rumple’s legs, dug his feet in front of one of the rocks on the ground, and started the process of wedging their side up the ledge. 

It wasn’t an easy job by any means. Getting the rhythm for shimmying and moving up was by no means simple with two people constrained as they were and when those two people could just barely cooperate, it was especially challenging. 

But it was working, slowly, but working all the same. They were making bits and bits of progress and it seemed like they would succeed.

Killian was so close to the top of the ledge, now able to make out not only a patch of grass, but a stretch of it. 

He started to navigate his arm towards the ledge, but in that moment, his foot’s traction against the rock it pushed against started to wane and wane fast.

His and Rumple’s scramble for balance was fast given everything, but nowhere near fast nor study enough to save them from the fall.

The two of them shared the brunt of the drop, landing on the cobblestone-like seafloor of the brook. The oblong cobbles of the stones made the fall especially painful, even though the water did help a bit to ease it.

Because the brook was rather shallow, neither of them was submerged beyond a quarter of their faces.

That only served to help Rumple’s rage fly faster.

“Yes, that plan of your really worked,” Rumple grit, positively seething. 

“At least it was something!” Killian shot back. 

“What I’d give for use of my hands.”

“Well, haven’t I had thought THAT a million times before?”

“If you don’t get moving, you’re not going to be having ANY thoughts!”

Both men stopped to catch their breaths and strategize, but the animosity between the other didn’t vanish for so much as a second.

God, HOW did Belle stand to share a house with Rumple, much less marry and raise a child with him? The two of them had been awake for less than twenty minutes and the bindings that kept them clung to each other was all that kept Killian from strangling him!

And this wasn’t the end of their journey...likely not even close.

“We need to get up there,” Rumple said, his angry expression now morphed into something close to determination. 

Well, at least he was just as dead set on getting home as he was.

“Then let’s try again.”

Killian moved to get back into their previous position, but Rumple pulled him back into the water with his body. Irritation flared up and his blood felt like the innards of a volcano.

“What are you doing?” he nearly shouted.

“No,” Rumple refuted. “We’re not doing that again.”

“Got any better ideas then?” Killian growled.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do.”

“This should be good,” Killian said, lacing his comment with all the venom he could muster.

Rumple seemed to have ignored the comment. “We’ll push my back against the side of the brook. From there, you’ll maneuver yourself onto your legs and stand up.”

Killian had to admit that it was a good plan. He’d never say it outright, of course, but he agreed to do it nonetheless.

Once again, Killian maneuvered himself onto his knees, but this time pivoted himself so that he was facing the ledge of the brook. He pushed Rumple’s back into the ledge as hard as he could.

“Now who’s going too hard?” Rumple snipped. In truth, Killian found himself in pain too since the very ledge that was hurting Rumple was right beside his arms as well. It was almost enough to make him wince, but he wasn’t about to let himself to it -- not in front of his crocodile.

“You said it yourself: We need to get up there,” Killian bit back. Rumple glared at him, but said nothing as Killian continued to push them upwards.

And much to his relief, in but a few moments, he and Rumple were standing upright. 

Rumple smirked at him, causing Killian to rolls his eyes.

“You needn’t thank me, but if you want to, I’ll gladly accept it.”

Of course he’d gloat about this, wouldn’t he?

Killian didn’t rush to answer the comment, instead looking forward -- literally -- towards their next course of action. Now that they were standing, how would they get on the ledge? The ledge went up to Killian’s waist and while he was spry, there was no way he was going to be able to step that high unsupported. 

But then he got an idea.

A devilish grin crossed his face and Rumple couldn’t even utter a word in response before Killian pushed him -- them -- onto Rumple’s back. 

Upon landing, Rumple shot perhaps the most vicious glare Killian had ever seen from him in his life. However, Killian, in between barks of laughter, pushed his legs upon the ledge.

He then turned to Rumple, whose expression had gotten no better since he last looked at it. 

To that, Killian smirked.

“Thank you,” Killian joked.

By now, Rumple was fuming.

“Get OFF of me,” he huffed, shoving Killian. The impact of the push ended up being more than likely either of them expected, sending them not only on their sides, but rolling a ways away from the brook in the direction of a tree. Their momentum was killed, as Killian’s back slammed into a tree. 

Both men exclaimed upon the crash, Rumple’s balled fists pushing deeply into Killian’s back, which only made the landing worse for Killian. They rolled out a bit so they were on their other side and a little bit away from the tree.

“You,” Killian grunted, “are the worst.”

“I couldn’t breath with you on me!” Rumple bit back. “What was your excuse?”

“I was getting us up that ledge! What, would you have preferred we stay there for a drink?”

“You could’ve given me a warning!”

“You could’ve been less of an ass by the ledge!”

The both of them sighed and looked away from each other. It wasn’t comfortable -- none of this was -- and it was only going to get worse from here. Killian reasoned they should probably get a move on while there was still daylight to burn.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Rumple said, beating Killian to the punch.

Killian looked at the tree that just two minutes ago got quite intimate with his spine. He thought back to the ledge they were trapped aside shortly before they landed here. Then, he turned to Rumple who was by now looking to him.

“Alright,” Killian said. “Like before, I’m going to press your back to the tree and push us up form there. That okay?” 

Rumple paused for a second, as if he was surprised by the gesture. To be fair, Killian supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He hadn’t been the most gracious of cohorts today either.

“Yes,” he seemed to settle on with a touch of hesitation. “Okay, let’s get moving.”

Once more, they rolled back to the tree, though more gently and with Rumple occupying Killian’s prior spot. Killian pushed Rumple against the trunk, making a conscious effort to be just a little more gentle with his movements -- if only to spare them both another spat. Slowly, he started stepping up, his arms grating sharply against the bark until finally, Killian was fully standing up again.

They both let out sighs of relief. For the first time in nearly half a day, some shred of normalcy and dignity returned to their lives...for about five seconds.

Then they realized their position once more.

How the HELL were they going to walk home like this?

And how long would it take?

Killian suspected that said answer was not one he was going to like.

Rumple seemed to already have an idea as to one of those question’s answers. “Okay, lower me onto my feet,” he instructed. 

Killian obliged, but immediately regretted doing so. A feeling of anguish set in right in the center of his spine as soon as Rumple was settled on the ground. He grimaced and let out an unconscious wince. Rumple looked no happier with the arrangement, seemingly struggle just to see anything apart from Killian that was directly in front of him. 

“Okay, let’s try moving back,” Killian said. He moved his feet first backwards from the tree and then Rumple moved his.

Not bad.

Not good either. 

“Now let’s turn.” They started moving again, but the limitations of their position started to kick in with the tree no longer there to fall back on. The position was incredibly uncomfortable and difficult to move in. It required patience and a mutual understanding of their desired rhythm, neither of which they had. Rumple was moving too fast and Killian was moving too slow. They barely managed the turn, but then they tried walking towards Rumple.

Rumple’s feet were once more too fast and Killian’s too slow, but luck wasn’t there this time to make up for their shoddy excuses for rhythm and balance.

All it took was one errant step for the pair to go tumbling down once more.

They landed on Rumple’s back and Killian, not wanting a repeat of the last time that happened, quickly turned them onto their side. For a moment, the just laid atop the grass as they recovered from yet another painful fall.

“Not a great start,” Killian assessed.

“No,” Rumple concurred. “Not at all.” They looked to the tree and then to each other. 

Now they had to do that whole thing again.

Killian was a bit more successful this time at getting them up. It was still a hard process, but it was once more an effective one.

Upon thinking back to their last effort at walking, Killian decided there and then that they weren’t about to try that abysmal attempt at walking again. Instead, he came up with another idea, once a bit less painful and taxing on both of them.

“Let me lead,” Killian implored. Rumple didn’t answer, and he took that as an agreement to his proposition.

On his own, Killian took a slow, careful step forward. It was incredibly wobbly and he almost didn’t make it through the next one, but just managed to catch himself with the help of some of Rumple’s movements. He took several more until they were beside the next closest tree.

A twig nearly had them, but Killian recovered just in time through a graceless bit of wiggling and commanding on his and Rumple’s part to maintain their stance.

Upon finally finding some semblance of balance, Rumple and Killian looked around.

“We clearly didn’t make it to the beach,” Rumple commented.

“Not by a long shot,” Killian agreed.

“So much for that plan of yours,” Rumple snipped.

Killian glared at him. “I didn’t see you suggesting anything better when we were flung into the ocean. And I told you there was a chance we’d lose to the current.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t have had you listened to me about the rocks,” Rumple bit back.

“I could barely hear you over the ocean.”

“More like your own stubbornness.”

“Look who's talking. Had your stubbornness been allowed to win, we’d be at the bottom of the ocean right now. Let’s just thank our gods we’re still in Storybrooke.”

Rumple looked peeved, but said nothing, gazing instead at the expansive forest beside them.

“How far off are we?” Killian asked.

“At least four, if not five miles from the town proper,” Rumple groaned, something Killian quickly chorused with one of his own. 

Killian took a deep breath. “And how long do you think it will take us to get there?”

“Considering how long it took us to get up and out of that brook, how bad those last few steps were, and the bumpiness of the woods...a day, at least,” he assessed. “Maybe two.”

“No,” Killian moaned, trying through sheer force of denial to make it not so.

“”Yes.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“How I wish that I were.”

Killian sighed, squeezing his eyes shut with frustration. “Well, unless we’re found, there’s little we can do but walk ourselves back home.”

“Kill me now,” Rumple commiserated.

“And have to bring Belle your corpse? Not a chance, crocodile. Now come on, let’s get a move on.” Killian was about to take a step, when suddenly, Rumple spoke.

“Wait.”

Killian exhaled far more roughly than he intended. “What?”

“You can’t seriously expect us to travel like this,” Rumple said, incredulity stretched across his face and words like a sheet of aluminum foil over a tray of leftover food.

Killian looked up and down -- at least as well as he could -- at how they stood. While he’d never deluded himself into thinking it was anything near normal, it was only now that he realized just how positively AWKWARD it was! Rumple’s feet couldn’t touch the ground and it made it look like Killian had a large baby strapped to his chest in a similar manner to how Belle held her son. It undoubtedly would’ve looked goofy to onlookers and as it stood, it was both humiliating and aggravating for them to endure. 

Then again, Killian supposed that was Horace and Jasper’s point in tying them up like this -- to make their last moments as torturous as hell.

But the fact was that they had lived and now, it was quite literally their burden to bear.

“Given our circumstances, it’s that or death,” Killian replied. “I don’t know about you, but I quite value my life.”

“I’m not being carried,” Rumple protested. Killian imagined that if he had use of his arms, they might be folded in front of him.

And Killian’s, fueled by exasperation, would be at his hips.

“Well, seeing as how you can’t lower yourself to the ground and our last attempts at me lowering you ended with us on the ground in a matter of seconds, unless you’ve got any better ideas — and trust me, I’d love to hear just about any alternative to this — then yes, you are being carried.” Rumple growled, and taking that as the end of the matter, Killian started walking. “You do realize I hate this as much as you do, right?” 

“I’d be disgusted if you didn’t.” From his backside, Killian could feel Rumple moving his feet up Killian’s body.

“What are you doing?”

“If I’ve no use for my legs, I’m not just going to leave them dangling. So I’m putting them up.”

That was all well and good, but it quickly stopped being so when Killian felt two feet pushing into his ass. The sudden shock of the feeling made Killian stumble, and despite trying to regain their balance, he was unable to.

“Well, can you not?” Killian growled as he picked his face up from the ground. Another groan escaped him as he realized that once more, they’d need to get back up again, something he was sure would be no more pleasant this time than any of the previous times had been.

And much to his aggravation, Rumple’s feet started climbing up Killian’s backside again.

“Stop,” Killian commanded.

“If they’re not dangling, they’ll be out of our way while you walk,” Rumple refuted.

Hearing the word ‘our’ being used so casually was torturous to Killians ears, an awful reminder of the long day that was to come.

Or possibly two days that were to come...

Killian groaned, for what had to be the eighth time in the span of maybe an hour. 

“It’s as you said,” Rumple reminded him, “it’s this or death and I know how you value your life. Now, come on, let’s get back up.”

They moved back towards the tree that had supported them last time. It was easier to get up this time, but easier was still by no means easy.

And if that weren’t bad enough, once they were standing, Rumple, whose legs fell down during the climb back up, started moving his legs up Killian’s again. Thankfully though, this time Rumple’s legs were able to cling as far up as Killians waist, and only hit Killian’s ass once along the way.

That said, it wasn’t comfortable. None of this was. Now though, with Rumple’s legs stacked on his waist, Killian felt even more of Rumple’s weight on him. Not to mention, his legs now served as an additional bind, forcing even their hips that had been spared the initial bind together.

As if they weren’t close enough...

“Let’s just get this fresh Hell over with so we can end this awful adventure.”

Having seemingly relented to his share of their misery, Rumple sighed. “Final question.”

Killian stopped walking, exasperated. “What?” he half shouted.

“How are we going to use the bathroom?”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Storybrooke’s forests were never something Rumple felt intimidated by. He spent more than his fair share of time traversing them, both in his cursed and uncursed life and never found them too expansive to conquer.

But that no longer proved to be the case as he was bound by the wrists of another man who could walk at most maybe a quarter of a mile per hour balancing their shared weights. Now, the woods felt practically insurmountable. Every bump in the road was a test of their balance and every familiar looking patch of moss was a test of their patience and all of it only delayed their arrival home even further.

Hook’s presence -- unwitting for him and UNBEARABLE for Rumple -- literally breathing down his neck as he did for Hook, made it all even worse. The only body part free of their embrace were their heads, but they clung close to each other as to not even worsen Hook’s balance. They had both reluctantly accepted the fact that their chins -- either directly or by their sides -- would remain in a constant state of contact, whether they liked it or not.

And they definitely didn’t.

Horace and Jasper had succeeded far better than they ever could’ve dreamed -- Rumple and Hook may have lived, but this was some layer of Hell they had been thrust into.

If Rumple found them, he’d get his revenge -- hell, he might even invite Hook to join the party.

Most of the day thus far had the two men walking in silence. Neither would describe it as comfortable considering everything that happened before -- including a bathroom trip that was awkward to say the least and downright painful to say the most, leaving both of them unable to so much as look at the other for the following hour -- but the silence was also far from unwanted.

And thankfully, after growing more accustomed to the feeling of their combined forms, Killian was able to pick up the pace, granted though, only a little. Like before, their balance left a lot to be desired and while Killian could hold himself and Rumple up well enough, the strain of such a feat required frequent pauses to catch their breath.

And frequent falls.

Rumple especially hated the falls.

Still, it was an improvement all the same and neither was about to argue with that.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of things to despise, and oh could Rumple go on a tirade if prompted.

Relying on Hook for so much of their journey home was quite literally a living nightmare. Rumple was acclimated to a large level of independence throughout much of his life thanks to his magic, domestic skills, and affluence, but right now, that was all stripped away. His feet were helplessly too short to allow him the dignity of walking alongside Hook, forcing him to allow Hook to lead the way while he just went along for the ride. He gave Hook directions, and thankfully, Hook took them all, but that was only because he had the power to do so and the basic competence to accept that Rumple simply knew better. Apart from that though, he was trapped.

And oh, what a situation to be trapped in. Every one of his senses was flared up with some manner of aggravating substances. His nose was entrenched in the smells of the forest, many of which were stuck on their clothes as a consequence of their multiple, multiple falls. His mouth still housed the bitter sting of salt water, even hours later. His eyes were caught between either looking at the endless forest they still had to slowly make their way through and Hook’s face, neither of which were pleasant choices. The sound of Hook’s deep breaths and the occasional annoying tweets from birds plagued his ears. And all he could touch was the body of his adversary, who he was forced to practically cuddle with through every single miserable step they took together.

All of that paired with the constant state of boredom the day had brought made the entire affair simply maddening. Engaging with Hook for about anything besides directions and was just about the last thing he wanted to commence, and Hook seemed in no hurry to start a conversation either, leaving him with little choice apart from looking out into the repetitive distance. Trees extended out as far as he could see and while there were small occasions of birds and squirrels passing the pair by, it was by no means long enough to entertain him in any way. That silence between them, for as merciful as it was solely because the only other party around was Hook, condemned him to being alone with his thoughts, which simply looped around to him thinking about every little annoying thing about this extended test of his very sanity.

How Rumple hadn’t completely lost control was a mystery to even him.

He’d wanted to lash out -- at the start, he did. He yelled at Hook to stop breathing so loudly and to walk faster and Hook would waste no time telling him to shut up. But every time it happened, Hook lost his balance, and the two of them were treated to a bone-rustling trip to the dirty ground and the frustrating and painful process of standing up again. After the fourth time -- which funnily enough, at least to someone, came from a command to stop falling so much -- Rumple finally decided it would be in his best interest to hold his tongue, no matter how crazy it drove him.

After all, for all he could do, Rumple figured he may as well have been in a straight jacket on top of it all.

So when a fork in their path at last came, Rumple found himself of all things relieved to see it. It was an excuse to think, and as much as Rumple maligned the prospect, it was an excuse to talk.

“What direction do we go next?” Hook asked.

Rumple looked around. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t sure. Both paths were going in the same general direction, but they did diverge even further after a point to go in completely different directions. Should they take the wrong one, correcting themselves could take hours and Rumple honestly didn’t know which was the correct one to take. Then, just when he was about to admit his failing, he spotted something. To an ordinary eye, it wouldn’t appear to be much, but if Rumple could say anything about himself, it was that he was he was far from ordinary.

“Over there,” he said, pointing as best he could over to what he saw with his head in lieu of fingers and hands. Hook turned around to face what Rumple was aiming towards.

“What is it?” 

“That lump of scat by that pile of leaves.” Rumple knew the prospect was odd to say the least, and he could predict Hook’s responses seconds before they showed themselves.

With a clenched, impatient jaw, Hook narrowed his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“You need to get me close enough so I can figure out what animal made it,” Rumple urged, ignoring Hook’s protests.

“Why?” Hook practically whined.

“Because then I can find out where we’re near based on what they’ve eaten.”

Hook was clearly not convinced. “I won’t do it.”

But Rumple was nothing if not stubborn, at least as much as Hook was, though he’d never outright admit it. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he threatened. 

“We’ll do it NO way.” Hook started to walk along the rightmost path, and Rumple, knowing no better solution and content enough with the warning he gave beforehand, shrugged his shoulders.

“Alright -- hard way it is then.”

With that, using all of his strength, Rumple pushed himself towards Hook. 

Hook may have gotten more used to their position, but his balance was still shoddy at best.

“Rumple!” Hook cried, just barely able to regain his balance.

But Rumple wasn’t about to give up.

Once more, he pushed.

And with a thud, they fell.

Immediately, Rumple started pushing them towards the scat.

That became a challenge when Hook started pushing them in the opposite direction.

“What the hell, crocodile?!” Hook shouted

“I’m trying to get us out of this mess,” Rumple snarled.

“I’m not smelling shit!”

“Then I’ll do it!”

“I’m still going to have to face it!”

“Oh, get over yourself!” 

They struggled against one another and fortunately for Rumple, while Hook often had more physical prowess between the two of them, hours of walking with Rumple’s additional weight had tuckered him out, allowing Rumple to secure the upper hand.

Rumple began rolling their bodies in the direction of the scat. He could see Hook glaring at him the whole while, but this was their best hope of getting out of this disaster. If Hook wanted to pout about it all the way from here to Storybrooke, he could for all Rumple cared, but he’d get them to that scat first.

When they arrived, Rumple leaned in and took a whiff of the scat. As expected, it smelled horrible, but Rumple was well used to the stench of lanolin, so it was hardly the worst thing to ever pass through his nose. But that very stench, for as awful as it was, confirmed what he was hoping it would.

“It’s fresh,” he assessed.

Hook scoffed with disgust so obvious, it could rival the fact that the grass is green. “No kidding.”

From there, Rumple examined the scat’s outward appearance and texture. He looked for little bits of food and an overall consistency to fill in the blanks of what he still wanted to know.

One long look was all he needed.

“Our furry friend just treated himself to a nice helping of pokeweed berries.”

Much to Rumple’s surprise, Hook grinned at the bit of information.

“Thank God,” Hook said, sighing. “Finally, some food.”

Rumple shook his head. “Afraid not. Pokeweed berries are poisonous to humans.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, how I wish that I was.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“Those squirrels nest to the opposite side of town. Once we get back up, veer left.”

With that, they rolled back to the nearest tree and started inching their way up once more before going left.

From there, the crossed paths became simpler to navigate. Much to Hook’s clear appreciation, Rumple could navigate from there without the use of scat. It didn’t make the trip much better, but the improved sense of direction did makes things better nonetheless and in their situation, it was honestly the most he or Hook could ask for.

Hours passed. To Rumple, they felt like days, but he knew in fact that they were indeed hours that were creeping forward like snails carrying anvils on their backs.

Rumple looked up at the leaf-patched sky. One skill he had retained from his previous life in the Enchanted Forest was the ability to tell the time by means of the sun’s trajectory. So he used that long underutilized ability to get some semblance of understanding where and when they were going. With no means of looking at his watch and no desire to ask Hook to do yet another thing for him, he had actively started checking the time this way since they woke up. It was ten in the morning when that happened and it was about eleven when they finally started steadily -- and oh, so slowly -- walking through the woods. Now, it was around four and the time was beginning to show itself through his fellow captive’s abilities. 

He could feel Hook’s endurance draining with every fibre of his hostaged being. Hook’s speed, may have increased for a bit earlier in the day, but Rumple was starting to feel it fall once more, now closer to when they began their travels. His breaths were becoming more labored and the tension in his muscles were thinning. 

Hook had taken pauses over the past few hours, but they were relatively short and he hadn’t given his legs a single break apart from their encounter with the scat, choosing to lean them against a tree. Rumple couldn’t blame him for not wanting to spare the time forcing them to get back up once more, but now, the consequences were starting to prove too much to push through. If he didn’t take a break soon, his stamina would deplete itself.

Of course though, Hook was a stubborn ass. Rumple had several lifetimes of experience to attest to that and today had given him by far the most instances of it.

This was going to be anything but easy.

But then again, what HAD been easy since this whole mess started?

“Stop,” Rumple commanded. 

Hook obliged, but turned to him with a skeptical air about him. “What’s wrong?” 

“You need to take a break.”

As Rumple expected, he received an incredulous look for his reasoning. 

“No, I don’t,” Hook denied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For Hook, to Rumple’s chagrin, it likely WAS the most natural thing in the world.

Rumple gave him a strict look. “You’ve been walking nonstop for hours now and like it or not, you’re getting weaker. I can feel it. Take a break.”

“I’m fine, Rumple.” 

“Look,” Rumple said, not letting up for a second, “we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Now, after our last disagreement, I’d imagine you’d opt for the former, so you best sit down before I make you, and we both know right now, as per usual, I can.”

Hook clenched his jaw as he stared at Rumple, as if he was trying to find a reason to say no beyond his own resolve to get out of here.

Rumple would be lying if he said he took no satisfaction in seeing Hook relent.

“Ten minutes and we’re back up,” Hook said as he started to walk them towards the nearest tree.

“Thirty,” Rumple shot back.

A huff pushed itself out of Hook’s nose.

“Twenty,” he offered.

Rumple smirked. “Deal.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Today...hadn’t been the best day of Killian’s life. 

That was the MILDEST way he could put things.

For years, he’d considered Rumple to be a plight upon this world. 

Right now though, he was a plight on Killian’s entire personal being.

Rumple...was a pest. He had been a relatively quiet pest today, all things considered, but a pest nonetheless.

Killian could tell on the inside he was seething though, but that was fine because he was seething too. 

He had carried heavier things and people than Rumple -- he’d just never had to carry them for nearly as long. 

The sun was a good measure of the day, and by his calculations, it had been four hours since they started this journey from the very bowels of hell. That was four awkward, painful, disgusting, quiet hours between himself and Rumple.

He’d been to the literal Underworld and it wasn’t a quarter as bad as everything he’d endured today.

Rumple had badgered him into taking a twenty minute break and though the last thing he’d do was say it to his companion’s face, Killian had to admit that it was one sorely needed.

It was only upon sitting down that he realized just how much the day had taken its toll on his body. Everything ached. His legs felt as if he’d spent the last four hours in a chain gang and each and every one of his muscles felt like they were comprised of little red balloons. Only now could he hear how deep his breaths had become and only now could he hope to reclaim some sort of equilibrium in his lungs. Opposite the rest of his body, while Killian couldn’t see his arms and hand, he could feel the blood that was only now starting to clot dripping down him and the stinging pain that attempting to move or even soothe them with the free part of his arm caused.

Killian closed his eyes, a shallow attempt to lick his proverbial wounds in any way possible. In truth, it did him little good. With Rumple pressed right up to him, everything not only ached, but continued to suffer under the pressure of his fellow captive’s weight.

The break also afforded Killian the first bit of mental freedom he was afforded since waking up. All of their trudgings had imposed upon Killian a responsibility to keep them moving and vertical as best as he could. Few steps allowed for his mind to wander, for every inch of the woods came with its own dangers to the two of them. There were twigs and rocks to be avoided, paths to stay on, and hills and slopes to manage. Walking was a job that oddly enough one of the hardest he’d ever had the misfortune to do in his life.

Still, if that focus thrust upon Killian had done one thing for him, it allowed him to be distracted from the rest of his body -- and he wasn’t even referring to Rumple, or at least not strictly. One day without food and water was bad enough, but when one was also forced to perform feats of physical strength such as what he had to do, it was even worse. His tongue still had remnants of the ocean’s salt in it, but that only served to make him thirstier and how his stomach hadn’t rumbled yet when his last meal was a burger from yesterday’s lunch was just as much a mystery to him as that ‘Snappy-Chatty’ app Henry sometimes went on about.

And now that he was temporarily relieved of his responsibilities, his body was free to unleash its wrath of deprivation upon him. 

Rumple himself wasn’t even capable of such wrath, even on his worst days.

“Any chance of water coming up soon?” The words left his mouth before he could even hope to control them. In truth, while he didn’t like admitting weaknesses to Rumple, he didn’t care enough to hold it in, especially if there was hope of filling that need.

“Not on our path, unfortunately.”

Stupid hopes.

“What about food?” 

“Yes, but we’ve still quite a ways to go before we approach it.”

Killian groaned openly. “I feel like my stomach is about to cannibalize my liver.”

Rumple snickered maliciously. “Well, don’t go doing that. I can’t imagine Miss Swan would be too happy if after all that pesky surviving of yours, you succumb to alcohol poisoning. Can’t say I’d be too disappointed, though.”

And just like that, Killian felt his eyes succumbing not to alcohol poisoning, but instead to a hearty roll.

How long was left until Rumple let him get back up? 

Too long, especially when he was thinking about his hunger and even more so when he was stuck to HIM, the very man coercing him to stay here and do nothing but think about his hunger.

Speaking of the proverbial devil, Killian realized that bit of bickering had been the most they’d spoken in hours. 

And upon catching Rumple’s eye looking at him in a way that expected a response or at least another prompt to speak, Killian had a feeling Rumple didn’t want to be done.

And much to Killian’s chagrin, he realized that he didn’t want to be done either.

But if Rumple wanted to say something, why didn’t he just say it?

Then again, Killian reminded himself that convenient silence was all but Rumple’s calling card.

The quiet they’d shared thus far today served its purpose of keeping them from killing each other well, but if they were to be trapped in this standstill, Killian would forego it in favor of doing just about anything to take his mind off his body’s seamingly ceaseless turmoil.

And as the woods quickly proved themselves to be about as interesting as a glass of tepid water, any sort of entertainment was going to come from talking, and the only person for miles who he could talk to that could actually talk back was Rumple.

Bloody hell.

How the hell did Rumple come out the better of the two options when compared to silence?

Who knew, but now, Killian was made painfully aware that if he wanted any kind of a break that wouldn’t lead him closer to the brink of madness, he’d need to find something to talk about with Rumple, no matter the result.

Thinking about it now, Killian had to wonder a bit what Rumple’s day must’ve been like. If a mere few minutes of a devout attention to their shared quiet and physical pain was enough to bother Killian, what were four hours comprised of so much quiet between them for Rumple? Apart from their confrontation over the scat and Rumple’s occasional directions, they’d hardly exchanged two words to each other over the course of their day, and both of those came at Killian’s prompting. And while Rumple was a key part of his balancing, he likely required a lot less focus than Killian was forced to take on. Sure, he knew Rumple was no stranger to time alone -- after all, who outside of the victims of his deals would’ve willingly spent time with him in his more crocodile-like form -- but he had his magic back then, or at least freedom. Here, the most he had to enthrall him were the very woods that were currently doing nothing for Killian. What must it have been like to go so long without any real stimulation?

Well, it was probably just a different kind, though likely equally awful, type of misery in line with what Killian’s day had been.

And Killian had to confess that he sympathized with that.

Admitting it was just as hard as admitting that the demand for a break was well-timed, but Killian did appreciate the effort on Rumple’s part to make sure he took one in the first place. Was it likely out of completely selfish desires? Undeniably, but Killian would be absolutely lying if he said he couldn’t see a scenario where Rumple pushed him to his absolute limit and then mocked him once that limit ran him dry or yelled at him to push onwards, no matter his exhaustion.

Perhaps Rumple had considered those courses of action or something equally as spiteful, but even if he did, at the end of the day, he made the better choice, and Killian, even with his abundance of doubt towards Rumple concerning just about everything he did, could acknowledge that.

And perhaps it was time for Killian to try to return the favor.

If Rumple could be called one thing, it would be a stubborn ass. If he didn’t want to expose a desire that he thought he had reason to hide, he damn well wouldn’t. And talking to Killian was no doubt for him an admission of a boredom and loneliness that Killian would wager his life that Rumple would sooner die than confess, especially to Killian of all people. Even without looking Rumple directly in the face, Killian could tell from the looks he caught that both of those desires were present, reluctantly so, but present all the same, and they would remain so for as long as he refused to say something.

However, if Killian talked to him, yes, he was confident that Rumple would talk back. It wasn’t necessarily something he wanted, but compared to the prospect of spending the next fifteen or so minutes with nothing but his hunger pangs and sore muscles to focus on, it wasn’t the worst of options.

Well, if talking was truly his only option to fill the time, he may as well bring up the only thing that bound their struggle for survival, even more than the ropes that surrounded their conjoined limbs.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Killian asked, turning to Rumple.

With a raised brow, Rumple stared back.

“Who?”

“Our families,” Killian elaborated. “Emma and Henry, Belle and Gideon. We’ve been gone for about a day now. They’ve undeniably noticed our absence.”

Rumple looked at him for a moment, as if trying to dissect some foul motive of Killian’s. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it or was at least too exhausted to try any harder, so with a sigh, he spoke.

“No doubt looking for us,” he said. “But I can’t imagine they’ll have all that much luck.”

Killian could surmise why pretty easily, both in Rumple’s case as well as his own. 

“I take it you never talked of Jasper and Horace to Emma before?” Rumple continued.

“Just as confidently as I can say you’ve never discussed them with Belle.”

Rumple frowned, but not bitterly.

“You should know the feeling of shame just as well as I do,” he said, “especially when it comes to deeds long since passed to the point of near irrelevancy. Why expose them to that darkness if you don’t have to?” It was a rhetorical question -- Killian wasn’t stupid -- but if living amongst heroes had taught him anything, it was that some rhetorical questions did, in fact, have answers.

“Because eventually, as we both know, it all comes back one way or another.”

The last thing Killian expected Rumple to do was concede to his point.

That made the fact that he did damn near shocking.

“Forget the Underworld,” Rumple said instead. “The world of the living is where the true ghosts reside.”

“Until we go there, that is,” Killian pointed out, somewhat jestfully. 

Rumple scoffed, though it was removed from the condescending tone that it often was delivered with. “I suppose you’re not wrong. After all, if Horace and Jasper still wanted revenge after all this time, and they were foolish enough to go after the Dark One, even if I’d escaped them in life, they’d have come after me in death. What else would they have to live for?”

“Besides a lackluster chimney cleaning service that was so underwhelming, it actually managed to hide in plain sight from us for years.”

“Give them credit though -- they know damn well how to punish their adversaries.”

If Killian ever agreed to a single thing Rumplestiltskin ever said, it would be that.

They sighed.

“This day has been nothing short of hell, hasn’t it?” Killian commiserated.

“I guess we’d know that better than anyone else.”

Killian snorted, neither entirely positively or negatively. “Right you are.”

They spent the next few minutes sitting in a silence that for the first time was more comfortable than uncomfortable, or at least a halfway point between comfort and discomfort. It was the most Killian figured he could expect. 

If nothing else, they could at least bond over their shared torment.

After a few minutes, Rumple spoke up.

“Let’s get going,” he said.

“Aye,” Killian returned, readying to climb them up the tree’s trunk once more.

‘Finally’ is what he’d wanted to say, but he held back. 

Theirs was an uneasy truce and, some level of solace had been reached after hours of ceaseless seething on both of their parts. 

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to let it last a little bit longer.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The latter half of the day wasn’t much different than the first half. 

Even after their conversation during their break, talking didn’t pick up between them afterwards. Bits of small talk about the weather were exchanged on the breaks that Rumple and Hook decided would be regularly taken for ten minutes once an hour. But apart from that, their speed, balance, and silence stayed pretty much the same.

It was monotonous, but the slowly setting sun and the emergence of a couple of nocturnal creatures helped Rumple starve off the boredom somewhat. 

A darker shade of gold that bordered on a burnt orange color painted the woods a striking color, one made more brilliant as he and Hook entered a small clearing. 

Hook began to direct them to a tree across the way. Rumple expected him to keep going, but when Hook was close enough to the tree, he simply leaned against it and started scouting out the land. 

“Time for a break?” Rumple looked to the sun. Sure enough, it looked to be about eight, so it made sense.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Hook shook his head. “No,” he stated. “This is as far as we’ll go today. We’ll need to camp out here tonight.” 

“Are you serious?” Rumple hoped against hope that such an inquiry might make Hook reconsider.

Alas, much like most of the past two days, he had no such luck.

“As the dead,” Hook confirmed, sealing their fates. “It gets dark in these woods at night and without a flashlight or a lantern, we’ll walk our way to our deaths -- that or get hopelessly lost. This journey’s gone long enough already without any extensions on our parts. Let’s settle down while we have a safe clearing to work with.”

In truth, Rumple in hindsight didn’t know what he was expecting. The matter of daylight and the consequences of proceeding on after its end was something he disregarded. When it came to their situation, he was prepared to get out of it as quickly as possible, let caution be damned.

Hook didn’t seem to agree.

And while Rumple was willing to acknowledge that such a line of thinking was a bit naive, he wasn’t about to be too happy about being proven wrong, nor the prospect of them spending yet another night asleep by each other’s sides.

“Just what I need -- to freeze my ass off in the forest,” Rumple muttered.

“Well, as loathe as I am to admit it, we’ll be sharing body heat, so we shan’t fear growing too cold.”

Rumple groaned. 

“I think I prefered drowning in the ocean.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

After the slow and awkward process of lowering themselves to the ground, Rumple and Killian agreed that they’d best sleep on Killian’s back. 

Sleeping on Rumple’s back wouldn’t work out. With Rumple deprived of his magic and given Killian’s weight relative to him, it would make breathing on his part damn near impossible and although the idea of crushing his adversary made for a fun thought, he had a feeling that if Rumple actually died while in his charge, he wouldn’t be welcomed home so warmly when he at last escaped this wretched forest, nor would he be guaranteed to leave at all without Rumple’s aid navigating the twisted paths. 

Sleeping on their side initially seemed like the best option, but neither man liked the idea of sleeping with half of their face in the dirt, bringing that notion to a quick end.

So with no other viable choice, it once again fell upon Killian’s back to support them.

“Comfy?” he asked.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

That was about as much of a good night as either man was about to offer the other, so Killian did their best to leave it at that.

But then came the matter of actually sleeping.

Sleeping in their current position was about as comfortable as sleeping in a cabinet -- that was to say, not at all.

Killian was uncomfortable laying on his back, Rumple made no secret about how much hated facing the dirt, and neither’s neck was comfortable as they were forced by their situation to crane it to one side.

Fearing a crick in his neck, Killian started to shift to the other side.

That would’ve been all well and good had Killian not moved to do the very same thing at the very same time.

Just as both were about to protest the other’s action at the halfway point of their trips, their lips thrust into each other, locking tightly against each other.

The unintentional kiss lingered for a couple of seconds, albeit the reason being purely out of shock, before both men pulled back, desperately moving in the opposite direction from each other. When they landed in their respective destination, neither wasted time before letting their disgust out, with groans and obscenities quickly filling the night’s air.

Of all the people he could’ve accidentally kissed...how did it end up being RUMPLE?

Through some likely subconscious but still moronic move, Rumple pushed Killian away with his body, but the subsequent and admittedly inevitable slam back into each other almost resulted in another locking of their lips. It was only Killian’s premature swerve right that prevented the repeat offense from being anything more than a cheek marred in much the same manner -- not that Rumple was about to thank him for it.

“This is unbearable,” Rumple snarled, lurching through the statement.

“I can guarantee you, today’s been no picnic for me either.” Killian spat.

The tension that had temporarily left them throughout much of the afternoon’s latter half came back with the force of a freight train.

They both took deep breaths, trying to regain their composures.

But Killian found it hard to do so, for one question -- rhetorical in nature, but one he wanted an answer for nonetheless -- banged in his head like a drum.

Of all people, why did it have to be RUMPLE?

And as he asked over and over again for the upteenth time today, he knew that question stretched far beyond one simple kiss.

It was everything -- the bind, the escape in the ocean, the pain, the walking, the hunger and thirst, and every other argument and inconvenience that plagued this accursed day.

And it was everything from before too.

If it had been anyone else, maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrible.

But it wasn’t anyone else -- it was Rumple.

Killian felt his anger flare up, but pushed himself away from letting it out.

Regardless of what he wanted, yes -- it was Rumple and nobody else he had to work with.

Only together could they get back home to their families.

Only with his help would they escape this nightmare.

Reminding himself of that helped...not fully, but enough for the moment.

Rumple shuddered and groaned. “Well, that was the second worst kiss of my life.”

“I promise you, Rumple: The sentiment is quite returned,” Killian said through a series of splutters to the dirt at his side. “What I’d give for a bottle of mouthwash right now.” Then realizing something, he paused and quirked his eyebrow. “Second?” he asked.

“Zelena,” Rumple sneered. “At least the one we just had was an abysmal accident.”

  
“To be fair,” Killian pointed out, “I’m also an astounding kisser. You merely got a sneak peek of the real show.” Killian wiggled his eyebrows jokingly. 

Look, the night was tense and if Killian was to survive this, he needed to allow himself the occasional harmless joke.

Rumple wasn’t amused.

“I’m going to bed before this ego trip of yours goes any further,” Rumple said flatly as he closed his eyes tighter than their current embrace was.

“Fine by me,” Killian sighed, settling into his new spot and shutting his own eyes as the pull of sleep started to clasp at him.

Things were good. Their night had been tough so far, but they’d somehow managed to get through it without strangling each other -- there had to be something said for that. 

Now all they needed to do was sleep and tomorrow, they’d hopefully be ready for anything.

...That sentiment lasted for all of two minutes.

Then Killian heard a sound, and with that, the embrace of sleep broke off and his eyes snapped open like blinds in the summer.

The sound, it was like a musical instrument, but a bad one. It made a shrill noise that altered between two notes. 

Others of the same rhythm joined in seconds later.

Soon, several could be heard in the spaces surrounding them.

Killian looked to Rumple for answers, only to see his face scrunched up with his own sounds leaving his mouth.

“Rumple, what is that?”

“Oh no,” Rumple groaned.

“Rumple, what is that?” Killian repeated.

He didn’t get an answer, merely an extended groan instead.

“Rumple, what the HELL is that?”

Rumple sighed and opened his eyes. “That is the call of dozens of squirrels in heat.”

“Oh no.” Killian was soon dissolving from words into his own elongated groan.

This had to be a nightmare. Killian had to already be asleep.

But no, just like all of today, he was wide awake, and Rumple’s next dry and clearly resigned words gave final confirmation to yet another insufferable part of this already insufferable day.

“Welcome to mating season.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

How the HELL did Emma Swan manage to share the same bed as her oaf of a husband every single night?

That was a question that Rumple could only try to guess at as yet another snore left Hook’s mouth.

It took about a half hour, but finally, the overpowering mating sounds of the squirrels started to dwindle, and Hook was able to fall asleep. 

Rumple would’ve liked to do so himself, but Hook had neglected to let him in on the fact that he snored louder than all of the mating sounds their ears had been assaulted with COMBINED.

He refused to ignore it -- not after everything today had wrought on him -- the all out attack from Hook and Mother Nature itself on his senses, the helplessness, the boredom, the hunger, the pain, and everything else between them -- it was all too much.

So no, he wasn’t about to accept snoring on top of all of that.

Rumple pulled back his head as far as it could go and with all the strength he could muster, violently jabbed Hook’s neck.

Hook was up immediately. A glare coursed through his eyes. If looks could kill, Rumple was sure he’d be in the ground with two holes through his eyes and hair.

But Rumple didn’t care. 

“What the HELL?” Hook hissed upon opening his eyes.

“You’re SNORING,” Rumple grunted. 

Hook’s glare only deepend, his resolve clearly still very much present. “And you’re DROOLING, but I’m not forcing you up!”

“I don’t drool.”

“Tell that to my soggy cheekbone.” Hook growled.

Rumple huffed his response.

“YOU’RE disgusting,” Hook sneered.

“And YOU’RE no better.”

Hook shouted nothing in particular into the air and then turned his face away from Rumple.

“Go. To. Hell,” he grit.

“With you snoring, I’m already there.” 

“I’m going back to bed. If you wake me up again, I promise you you’ll pay.”

“How so?” Rumple snipped. “In case you forgot, I’M the only one who can navigate us to the outskirts of these woods!”

Hook snapped his head back to Rumple. “And in case YOU forgot, I’M the only one who can carry us there!”

Neither responded, simply seething as they violently turned to face the opposite side of each other. 

But it didn’t matter. Hook was right beside Rumple and Rumple was right beside Hook. They didn’t even need to so much as move a muscle to feel the other pressed against nearly every limb of their body.

It was enough to make Rumple’s skin crawl.

And their journey was maybe half over.

By Rumple’s estimation, they made it about two miles today over the course if the eight hours they traveled. There were at least another two to get through before they made it back to Storybrooke.

That meant there would be at least another eight hours of slowly crawling through the placid, yet still painfully difficult to manage forest.

That meant there would be at least another eight hours of physical torment plaguing most every part of their bodies..

And of course, that meant there would be at least another eight hours mercilessly strapped to Hook, with nowhere else to go and their truce quite possibly now thrown to the wayside.

What had he done to deserve this?

...Well, if he were being honest with himself, that answer involved an awfully long list of deeds.

And if he were being even MORE honest with himself, waking up Hook the way he did was just the most recent of those deeds. That had launched them in this most recent and harshest of spats.

Neither of them chose to be in this situation. 

Rumple CHOSE to do that.

Bouts of bickering aside and everything else considered, they worked well enough together. Their quest was anything but harmonious, but their progress wasn’t bad, and in the small instances where they’d done right by the other, that progress almost approached what could be called ‘good.’

Still though, they had to contend with that bickering and everything else that made it all so difficult. 

It was so much. 

It had been too much, really. Each and every factor of contention -- and numerous, they were -- were all quite literally in his face at all hours of the day and had been building and building and building.

So could he be blamed for snapping at yet another one of them?

Rumple didn’t think he was fast to anger, but he was only human all the same.

Maybe not in most scenarios, that snapping would’ve been fair, but the fact of the matter was that Rumple took the fight to Hook, and over something that wasn’t even his fault. Hook couldn’t control his snoring no more than he could control his...drooling.

He still refused to believe he actually drooled...No...

Still, it didn’t matter. Hook hadn’t smacked him with his head for it, ruining the one moment of blessed peace this living nightmare offered -- Rumple did.

...And maybe, just maybe, despite how much he hated Hook, Rumple actually felt some remorse over that fact and wanted to right it.

Damnit, what was living in this town DOING to him?

Since when did he actually care about the feelings of his enemies?

Well, no matter. He knew he had to stop their fight in its tracks.

He only hoped Hook was still awake.

“Hook-”

“Rumple-”

Rumple stopped as he heard words exit another’s mouth at the same time as his own.

Well, unless the squirrels had learned to speak English via-mating, there was only one other person around who could talk to him…

He turned to face Hook, who was already facing him once more.

Hook sighed and took it upon himself to go first. “We need to stop this,” he said. “This situation’s terrible enough as it is. We’re already literally at each other’s throats; we don’t need to figuratively be too.”

“No, we don’t,” Rumple concurred. 

“I’m just as guilty of it as you,” Hook continued, “but if we don’t bring it to an end-”

“We’ll never get home,” Rumple finished.

“Aye.”

The two of them sighed once more, now in perfect sync. Much to likely both of their chagrins, they were getting better at that.

Rumple then took a deep breath. It wasn’t everyday he said this to anyone, and it was nothing short of a full blown anomaly that he was saying it to Hook. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have woken you.”

Hook, for all that he said before, seemed positively shocked by the apology, as if he never expected to actually hear those words leave Rumple’s mouth. He looked at Rumple like he just grew a third head and if he weren’t in the midst of an apology, he’d probably laugh at that.

But the fact remained that he WAS in the midst of an apology, so Rumple took Hook’s silence as an opportunity to continue.

“We need each other out here. I know you hate it and you know I hate it too. But there’s no way around it. As long as we’re trapped in this accursed forest, we’re all each other has, and like you said, neither of us has any business making things even worse than they already are. I did...and I’m sorry.”

Damnit, there really WAS some actual truth to that.

Fucking heroes...

Rumple waited for Hook’s response. As Rumple spoke, Hook seemed to get over his shock, his face now neutral. 

Hook sighed. “Horace and Jasper are real bastards, aren’t they?”

“Indeed they are.” Rumple couldn’t say for certain, but the way Hook spoke gestured to him the words ‘apology accepted.’

“There’s a lot of bad blood between us.”

Hook scoffed. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“I won’t ignore it.”

“I CAN’T ignore it,” Hook remarked, an unmistakable sharpness in his tone. For a moment, Rumple felt a swelling of tension in Hook’s body and worried that there might be a chance of another argument starting up. 

Of course, it seemed like while reaching the conclusion of their mutual need for harmony was something he could say, actually putting it into practice was difficult.

He’d call Hook out as a hypocrite if he didn’t feel the exact same way. 

Still, at least they were owning up to it. There had to be something that could be said for that.

“Then let’s not,” Rumple resolved. “Let’s just agree to starve off that animosity as best we can until we get home.”

“Just another reason to want to get out of here,” Hook said. “But I suppose we’ve got to try.” 

“I’ll do better if you will.”

Hook didn’t smile, but Rumple felt the tension recede like the end of an ocean’s tide. 

“That’s one deal I’ll take with no complaints.” Hook then smirked at him. “Promise not to hit me awake if I snore?”

Rumple silently snorted. “Sure.”

“Good. Then I won’t wake you if you drool.”

“I don’t drool,” Rumple insisted. 

“You do.”

Rumple and Hook exchanged a stare, one now far less vitriolic than before. 

Hook turned away from the stare to yawn and one of Rumple’s followed but one second afterwards. 

“Let’s get some sleep,” he said tiredly. “We can discuss the matter of your drool tomorrow.”

“My non-existent drool, you mean,” Rumple stated, allowing his eyes and body slink closer to sleep once more.

Who knew for certain what tomorrow would bring. If Rumple had learned anything from Storybrooke -- and judging by that last conversation, he learned far more than that --he knew never to expect anything.

But as he succumbed to his desires for rest, he felt content in the knowledge that both physically and mentally, they were headed in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Did you like the chapter? Let me know what you think by leaving me a nice, juicy review?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're feeling so inclined, you're always welcome to toss me a tasty review! You can tell me what I did right, what I did wrong, that the fic needs more Batman -- whatever suits your fancy, really! XD Either way, enjoy your day!


End file.
